


Gold

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Anthropomorphic, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Breathplay, Comeplay, Dominance, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Magic, Smauglock, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo accidentally wakes Smaug, he has no idea of the true trouble he’s in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ritsuko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/gifts).



> A/N: HAPPY MOFO’ BDAY, RITS! You know I love you to death. This is a new one for me, so I hope my plain daydream works for you. All the love in the world, darling. For everyone else: **Warning** , the possibility of magical aphrodisiacs and sheer nature of Smaug obviously being a very, very dangerous dragon coupled with Bilbo being in a position of opposition to him via the whole sneaking/burglaring make this consent questionable. Please interpret and read according to your own comfort levels.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

This is really quite unfair. 

No one ever warned Bilbo. Oh, yes, they told him stories, little snippets here and there, but they never really _warned_ him of just what a _dragon_ is like, a glorious, great, towering beast made of solid jewels. When it first uncurls from the gold, Bilbo can hardly move, that first split-second stuck with some sharp, cutting, awe-inspiring fear. It consumes every last part of him, from the tips of his fingers to his bare toes, scraping over mounds of coins. Smaug is more than just the largest creature Bilbo’s ever seen; he’s the largest _thing_. In this moment, Bilbo thinks he might be bigger than the whole of Hobbiton, the whole of the Shire. The Lonely Mountain is a vast web of gigantic structures, but Smaug makes everything else look like child’s play. 

Smaug is _beautiful_. He shines like he’s made of pure rubies. His eyes hold shades of yellow and orange that Bilbo’s never known before. His claws, as they creep through the cascading hills of riches, could crush Bilbo so very easily. The tail that slides past Bilbo has such a grace beneath the hard shell, its slithering movements so precise and seamless, that Bilbo is sure he’ll never get away. He’ll never escape this god of a monster unless it so ordains to let him. 

And still he backs up from it, tripping and stumbling. The jagged edges of precious stones and coins below are worse than the dirt and rocks of the outside world, but still Bilbo steps, sure he’ll fall— _to his death_ —at any moment. He opens his mouth and doesn’t know what to say. They told him not to wake it. They never said what to do once he did.

The great dragon tosses back his head. He’s out of the gold now, and what’s left trickles off him, with the deafening crackle of countless hard surfaces upon many more. When he snorts, the endless abyss of black above swirls into grey, clouds swimming. The dragon opens his mouth and peals back his gums, every one of his pearly teeth glistening as he roars—as he yawns? Bilbo is transfixed. He should cover his ears before those enormous lungs puncture his tiny eardrums, but he can’t seem to make his hands move. 

Finally, Smaug looks at him. Bilbo half hopes he won’t be seen; he is, after all, just a tiny fly to this creature: a small speck of nothing. He needs to put on his ring. But there’s no denying that Smaug _sees_ him. Smaug’s tail curls up behind him, enough that his feet have to stop, his back hitting the wall of scales, and he jumps forward with a yelp; it’s scalding hot. Smaug’s head lowers before him, and Smaug’s breath wafts all around him; he feels like a parasite in someone’s pipe. Smaug’s terrifying lips curl into a twisted smile the size of Bag End. 

When Smaug speaks, actually _speaks_ , in a language that Bilbo can understand, Bilbo’s heart nearly stops. The dragon’s voice is a deep, lilting thing, reverberating through Bilbo’s little chest and making his skin prickle every which way. Smaug tilts his head and asks, “Come to steal my gold, have you, little one?” His tone is a rumbling song; Bilbo’s knees shake. 

He feels suddenly _unworthy_ , and why they called his job a _burglar_ , he’ll never know. This isn’t for petty thieves, this requires some sort of... of...

 _Thing_ that Bilbo isn’t. He expects to simply melt in the heat and the fear and the _awe_ , but somehow his dry mouth opens, and he practically squeaks, “No. ...Ah, no?”

“No?” Smaug repeats, and it sounds so very different when he says it. There’s a bit of a laugh; Bilbo didn’t know dragons could do that. Bilbo didn’t know anything. Smaug’s head sways on his long neck, and his tail creeps closer—Bilbo has to step away again to avoid another burn, unsteady on his feat in the humid, thickening air. Smaug asks, “What are you?” and his eyes fixate on Bilbo, tilting so close that Bilbo can see the impression of his own reflection in them. 

When Bilbo takes too long to answer, Smaug asks, “Dwarf? No, you are not one of those... I know the smell of a dwarf... but I don’t recognize _your_ smell...”

“Hobbit,” Bilbo mumbles, then coughs and repeats louder, because a king’s summoned him to do so, “I’m a hobbit!” Smaug tilts his head; there are no hobbits here. 

While Smaug examines him, Bilbo’s hand slips into his pocket. The ring is still there, he can feel it; Smaug’s nostrils flare like he can _smell_ it. But there’s nowhere to go. Claws in front and a tail everywhere else. Bilbo’s fingers slip back out. He thinks Smaug might be smiling again. It feels like Smaug _knows_.

He hisses, “Are all hobbits thieves?” When he speaks, the steam from his nose grows worse. Bilbo coughs again. He wants to say no, but it’s difficult with soot in his throat. And difficult to talk to a dragon. Smaug looks aside while his tail coils nearer. “What did they tell you, hmmm? Those nasty dwarves... told you I took all of their riches, did they?” His voice lowers to impossible decibels, and he hisses again, “Where do you think they got all their jewels? They pull stones from the ground and think they own the earth all around them, greedy little things...”

Bilbo... wasn’t quite expecting that. Well, of course the gold is theirs. He just always assumed... he didn’t really ask that many questions. And he didn’t think a dragon would give him more to ask. Bilbo tilts his head, then struggles to regain himself. The dragon’s trying to trick him. He’s not stupid enough to say it, even if he is shell-shocked. He calls, “I... I agree with you, Smaug! Why I... I only came here to see your splendor, to see _your_ power—”

“LIAR!” Smaug roars, so loudly that the walls in the distance shake, trinkets tumbling all around them, and Bilbo’s nearly knocked backwards. Smaug’s muzzle lowers close enough to the ground that it might just sink back beneath the lake of gold. If Bilbo wanted, a few more steps, and he could climb right up to Smaug’s head. And be tossed aside like a rat, most likely. “A liar and a thief... if this is what a hobbit is, I don’t see why I shouldn’t _eat_ it.”

“No!” Bilbo cries again. “No, just... uh...” He tries to _think_ , but it’s very hard—the steam’s thinning his head. There must be something he can say. Air is hard to get. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Smaug repeats. His tail slithers so close that there’s nowhere to step, let alone run. It’s either Smaug’s fangs or his tail, and Bilbo takes the tail, standing stock still as the molten scales slick along his back. His eyes close. He’s sure he’s going to die, and he isn’t brave enough to face it. He’s shaking all over. To think, giants and trolls and spiders the size of horses and now he can’t think of a damn thing. He tricked his way away from orcs and whatever that thing with the ring was, and now all he can do is bite the inside of his mouth and hope death comes fast. At least he will have beheld this magnificent sight before he went.

“Wait!” Bilbo’s eyes shoot open. 

No, yes, he did all of that, he’s not going to give in so easily, they’re all _counting_ on him; Bilbo looks up at Smaug and pleads, “Oh... oh great Smaug, there must be some, ah... some use you have for a hobbit! I didn’t come here for the dwarves. I came here to serve you!”

“Serve me?” Smaug asks, amused. When his head tilts, his tail shifts ever so slightly, and the scales cut across Bilbo’s back. He can feel some of their edges catching on and ripping his clothes and can’t help but wonder if it’s even intentional. Does Smaug have any idea of the effect he has on others? “My little hobbit, it is _I_ , who can serve _you_.” When Bilbo’s mouth falls open, utterly shocked, Smaug chuckles a booming laugh and continues, “I freed the dwarves from their greedy king’s bloody rule, and perhaps, I think, I should free you from the pain and drudgery they drag you through...”

If that means death, Bilbo doesn’t like it. If that means anything else, he’ll take it. Thorin never said anything about a bloody ruler. Bilbo doesn’t quite believe what Smaug’s saying, but he clings to it enough to ask, “If you mean alive I... I’m sure we could come to some sort of... ah, arrangement... I mean, look at all this.” When he flings his arms out, his hands hit Smaug’s tail and spring in again, flesh sizzling in the heat. He’s covered in dirt and scrapes already, but he’s burning, he knows that, cooking alive. He gulps and forces himself to go on, “You must need someone to sort all this, to... to take inventory! To tell you stories, sing you songs, ah... f... feed you? Not hobbit, of course, hobbits make terrible meat, but ah...”

“A companion?” Smaug breathes. This time the steam from his nose makes Bilbo nearly topple over, his lids heavy. It’s too hot to breath. He nods, doesn’t know if Smaug understands that, and wants to say yes, say anything, but instead he just slumps back against the solid fire of Smaug’s tail. Smaug’s grin reaches his glistening eyes. 

He purrs, “Very well.” _Purrs_. His deep, luxurious voice is putting Bilbo to sleep. “You agree?”

Bilbo does. He nods, first in a lazy lull, then emphatically. _A companion to a dragon._ And one so beautiful. Better than death surely, and, perhaps, better even than a fraction of this treasure. Maybe the dwarves can find some other way to rebuild themselves, because Bilbo never had any hope or wish to steal from a sentient being that might have just as much claim to the gold. His loyalty trickles away in the face of Smaug’s breathtaking eyes. He mumbles thickly, “ _Yes._ ”

The tail tightens. It wraps around him in a heartbeat, startlingly fast, and Bilbo’s helpless to stop it. Suddenly he’s being squeezed by a python, his arms tight at his sides, and it’s searing every bit of his skin through his clothes, and he shrieks in pain as he’s lifted from the ground, coughing and spluttering a second later. Smaug opens his giant mouth and his teeth are each taller than Bilbo, his tongue flattening as his warm breath surges out—Bilbo expects fire but only gets more steam, blistering around him, hot enough to ignite him, and he can’t breathe, can’t even get close, he’s struggling and his vision’s blurring into black around the edges. 

It closes in around him, and he doesn’t notice being lowered back to the ground. He slips into unconsciousness, where pain can’t reach him.

* * *

When Bilbo comes to, it’s slow and groggy. There’s nothing wrong with his body, but his mind feels like there should be, like he shouldn’t be alive. He yawns without seeing and he tries to open his eyes, but it takes two attempts. He’s looking up at the ceiling, or where the ceiling is, high, high above him. Everything is black. 

His head lolls to the side, pillowed uncomfortably in a bed of sharp angles. It’s all gold. Great mounds of riches, reaching stone walls—he turns his head, more walls. He’s in a little room, with very humid air and warm breath ghosting over his neck. 

He’s pulled up, and he yelps as the coins rattle around him, shifting from a bed to a makeshift chair. He’s sitting up. He’s not alone. He wants to reach for the ring, but his hands are tired. 

Bilbo’s head jerks to his shoulder, trying to peer backwards. His arms are bound, wrist to elbow in shreds of cloth. And they aren’t covered in sleeves. Bilbo blinks at his shoulder. He isn’t wearing his shirt. 

He looks down, and he isn’t wearing any pants. Nothing. All of his clothes have been stripped away, and there’s nothing, right down from his heaving chest to his soft belly to the matt of gold curls above his limp cock. His breathing goes from laboured to panicked, and he looks forward suddenly at the sound of more coins shifting.

A man stands in front of him, tall and lean and beautiful. Not a hobbit, not a dwarf. Not even an elf, Bilbo thinks, and maybe not really even a _Man_. Men don’t have eyes like that, shining gold, or horns growing out of their heads, or long, red tails. The man has lines of red all up his sides, textured like a fish, or like a lizard, scaling. He has thick, curled chestnut hair, and long, bow lips that work into a smile. The man takes a step closer, and he purrs, “Welcome back, hobbit.” It’s a voice that Bilbo recognizes. 

Bilbo’s mouth falls open, and he just barely manages to mumble, “Smaug?”

“The one and only,” Smaug hisses, and when his lips part like that, his sharp tongue appears between his flat teeth. There’s no mistaking that voice. It doesn’t reverberate like this, doesn’t echo and boom, but it’s so _powerful_ in its own way, rolling over Bilbo like a heavy perfume. Bilbo’s just stuck staring. 

Smaug was breathtaking before. Like this, he’s just as gorgeous. The new most beautiful creature Bilbo’s ever seen. Smaug closes the space between them with one final step, and he sinks down in the gold to his knees, still much taller than Bilbo, but he leans down, broad shoulders casting great shadows. Fire flickers from lanterns in the wall, wavering light that slides so perfectly over Smaug’s red-and-peach skin. When Smaug’s hand lifts, Bilbo sees the sharp nails on it, not that far from claws. But it’s soft when it cups Bilbo’s cheek, palm warm but not scorching. 

“You offered to be my companion,” Smaug says, and his eyes rake over Bilbo’s body while he speaks. Bilbo doesn’t remember saying that exactly, but he doesn’t protest. Just nods. Wouldn’t risk ending this dream. Smaug smiles widely at him like that single confirmation’s all he needed: it’s been decided, like Bilbo’s already _his_ , his treat, his possession, his toy. Bilbo gulps. It feels like he might still be eaten, and he might be too enraptured to mind. 

When he manages to speak again, all that comes out is a shaky, “How...?”

Smaug laughs. His grin is both terrifying and wondrous, dimples deep in his face as his chest moves with mirth. His calloused fingers stroke back through Bilbo’s hair, and he says as though it’s all very simple, “Dragon magic, little one.” His eyebrows lift, proud of himself. He should be. 

He tilts his head to the side of Bilbo’s, long body leaning over Bilbo’s, outer thighs brushing along Bilbo’s legs. Bilbo’s breath catches at the contact, gasping when Smaug’s teeth graze along his cheekbone. Smaug’s other hand lays flat on his chest and begins to run down his body, and Bilbo’s losing his mind. This can’t seriously be happening. Smaug’s voice rings right in his ear, so incredibly _sensual,_ “You are so small, my hobbit... I would’ve crushed you in my real body, but I am old, very old, and I know magic that has been lost to the eyes of Men for a long, long time.” He presses a kiss to the shell of Bilbo’s ear, so gentle. 

Bilbo thinks he might have a heart attack just from too much stimulus already. Smaug’s hand is slipping down the lines of his stomach, pausing at his bellybutton, and Bilbo wants to look down, to follow it, but he can’t look away from Smaug’s eyes. Smaug smiles as his fingers trace the tiny hole that once attached Bilbo to his mother; perhaps dragons don’t have navels. Bilbo glances down, and Smaug does. But Smaug made this in a Man’s image, Bilbo thinks. Smaug’s fingertips tangle in the gold curls around Bilbo’s cock, and his teeth grit. He’s very... confused. 

Smaug kisses the side of his face, and Bilbo’s eyes flutter shut. It’s so tender. Smaug kisses his chin just as slowly. Smaug’s fingers reach the base of his cock and slip around the shaft; Bilbo gasps. Smaug’s fingers are so long, so smooth, so hot. They wrap around him and squeeze once, not enough to hurt, but enough for Bilbo to release a muffled moan. When he offered to serve Smaug, this isn’t what he meant. He would never have thought of it.

It’s getting harder to think about what he did mean and why it even matters. Smaug’s tail, as thick as a second cock, twists itself around Bilbo’s leg, lifting it in the air. Bilbo yelps at the new position, but Smaug strokes his cheek and his dick and urges him not to fret with a soothing sound. It’s got him now. He’s got cocks on the brain, and he can’t help but take a second look at Smaug’s. It’s half hard already, so very close to Bilbo’s own, long and dark and gorgeous-looking. Bilbo scrunches his eyes shut again, forcing himself to look away. He didn’t even know he went for men, let alone dragons.

“You are entranced with me,” Smaug purrs, like he can read Bilbo’s thoughts. He pumps Bilbo’s cock softly, tail winding higher and higher, spreading Bilbo’s legs. “You want to be punished...”

“Punished?” Bilbo mumbles weakly. Oh, right, he was trespassing, here for dwarves. It’s hard to conceive of all that with Smaug placing lazy kisses along his forehead.

“For being a thief and a liar, of course, my little hobbit...”

“Bilbo,” Bilbo breathes. That voice is too melodic and sweet; he wants to hear his own name in it, even if he knows that’s mad.

Smaug hisses, “Bilbo,” like a strange, foreign word that makes no sense to him. His eyes flicker, and then he smiles again. That _smile_. “Ah, my Bilbo... yesss... you will be mine, now. My... companion...” 

Bound like this, Bilbo feels more like a slave, but how can he argue? He doesn’t want to be eaten, and he worse, he doesn’t want those sinful hands to stop. He knows there’s more at stake, but what does that matter when a handsome, powerful man is stroking his cock and kissing him so softly? Smaug’s claws curl beneath Bilbo’s chin, and his head is tilted back, the pad of Smaug’s thumb ghosting over his lip. Bilbo’s eyelids are heavy, stuck halfway closed, and he’s sure his cheeks are warm—all of him is. Smaug coaxes his mouth open. 

Smaug kisses him, tentative at first, right on his lips. It’s chaste, and then Smaug leans back, readjusts, and goes in again. His tongue laves along Bilbo’s lower lip and slips into Bilbo’s mouth, tracing the walls and lines of teeth. Smaug presses forward into him, and Bilbo _melts_ , his own tongue responding. He can feel Smaug’s amusement when their tongues touch, when the real kissing starts. Bilbo’s... never done this before. Not like _this_ , anyway. But Smaug knows when he’s doing, and Smaug has all the control. 

Dragon magic. It’s the only explanation. The more Smaug kisses him, the more Bilbo forgets the names of his friends, the more he whittles down to nothing, the more he just wants, _needs_ more. If he had the use of his arms, he might be wrapping them around Smaug’s neck, trying to tug them closer. The strands of chestnut hair that press into his forehead feel so deceptively soft. Smaug kisses him again and again, until Bilbo’s leaning forward into it, hips rocking into Smaug’s hand. Smaug stops long enough to chuckle, “You like that, little Bilbo...” It doesn’t even have to be a question. 

His hand stills. It starts to snake away, leaving Bilbo’s cock to twitch and ache, and Bilbo moans, “Oh, no... no, don’t stop...” Smaug’s knowing grin promises him the whole world. 

Smaug surges forward, kissing Bilbo so hard that Bilbo’s knocked over onto his back, arms pressing grooves into the gold. It’s an uncomfortable bed, but Bilbo can’t care—Smaug’s tongue and teeth and lips are devouring him. Smaug’s hand lands just beneath Bilbo’s balls and drags down the curve of his ass—Bilbo whimpers into his captor’s mouth. 

Smaug’s hand doesn’t stop, but his mouth does, enough for him to nuzzle into the side of Bilbo’s face and purr, so _filthy_ , “Shhh, do not worry, precious thing... if you don’t want me to stop, I won’t... _I never will_...”

Bilbo didn’t mean.... _Precious_ thing. Is that what he is, now? He thought he was a thief and a liar, being punished, but this doesn’t feel like a punishment, and the power of Smaug’s voice makes him believe everything it says. Smaug’s hand is rubbing his crack, one finger pressing in, finding his hole, and Bilbo keens and tosses his head back. He groans while Smaug kisses his neck, nipping it lightly with teeth that Bilbo knows are really so much sharper. Smaug whispers something against his throat, and Bilbo’s entire body trembles under it, a shiver running right down his ribs and the bones in his spine, spiraling straight to the touch of Smaug’s busy finger. Bilbo’s entrance slowly spreads itself apart, opening up, an uncomfortable, strange sensation that leaves Bilbo dazed. Bilbo tenses when Smaug’s finger pops inside him; he expects to be torn apart on razor-like claws, but he isn’t. 

He’s fingered gently, and then he’s kissed again, the other hand petting him and soothing him and cradling his head. The more they kiss, the odder it feels to have Smaug _inside_ him, and that finger’s dry and chafes, but with Smaug’s saliva, coated in some thick aphrodisiac that makes Bilbo writhe, all over his mouth, how can he care? If he’s going to be a dragon’s companion, he’ll have to get used to a little bit of pain. This pleasure, he thinks, will be worth it.

The finger wriggles around inside him, opens him up, strokes and coaxes his walls to obey, Smaug’s tail lifting his leg to help with different angles. He can feel it creeping further along his leg, wrapping around his thigh—how long it is, Bilbo doesn’t know—and then it’s brushing over his hip. It slithers down, past his still-hard cock and his balls and down the same path the finger followed. Bilbo isn’t stupid; he knows what this is; but Smaug kisses him so mindless that he struggles to understand why that’s a problem. Smaug’s tail reaches and traces Bilbo’s tight ring of muscle, and then it press inside. 

Bilbo _gasps_. He can’t kiss anymore, and Smaug doesn’t make him. He’s struggling again, groaning and wincing and crooning as he’s slowly filled thicker and thicker by Smaug’s scaly tail. Amazingly, it doesn’t hurt, but Bilbo knows it should, and it doesn’t stop, just lazily crawls further and further into him, so much further than it should be able to. When it finally, _finally_ ends, Bilbo feels like it’s coiled all over his insides, even though he knows that’s insane. It isn’t dry, slick with something, the same soothing, tingling aphrodisiac of magic that makes everything alright. His hole is stretched so wide, and he looks up at Smaug’s iridescent eyes, utterly helpless.

“I can’t fuck you as I really am,” Smaug sighs, and his tail moves again, out and in; Bilbo grits his teeth and sucks in breath. “Even if you were to lick and kiss and cling to my cock, it would take you all of the daylight to worship it properly. Not that you’ll ever wish to see the sun again, once I’m through with you...”

Bilbo doesn’t _care_. The tail pistons into him again and his chest arcs, his free foot scrambling for purchase, his eyes rolling back in his head. Smaug shifts and brushes something inside of him that makes him see the sun behind his own eyelids, makes him senseless and giddy. He wants it again, and he rubs himself shamelessly against Smaug’s tail, but it doesn’t help. Smaug simply chuckles and holds him still. “ _Oh_...” 

“But I will have you like this,” Smaug tells him, obscenely licking a line up the side of his face and nipping above his brow. “And I can still fill you beyond your wildest dreams, open you wide, come so close to splitting you open on my cock and my tail...” Bilbo’s vision is blurring, but he lolls his head to look at Smaug, tries to examine Smaug’s face. Both...? He couldn’t possibly...

Smaug’s tail is slipping, and Bilbo’s gasping over and over, that finger back and probing at his stretched muscles, taut around that tail. The finger rubs and prods and finds a way to slip inside, now coated in something new, something thick and sticky. It presses alongside the impossible girth of the tail and holds him open—Bilbo’s poor, abused hole is convulsing wildly as air trickles in and out of him on that side. Something else pushes against him, something spongy and slick, and Bilbo somehow manages to put his chin to his chest and look down. 

Smaug’s strong, beautiful cock is nudging and disappearing between his legs, leaking from the slit at the top and already coated in what must be precum. Bilbo wants to say something, anything—that’s too much, there’s no way—but all he can do is look pleadingly at Smaug’s handsome face. Tears might be prickling at the corners of Bilbo’s eyes. This is more than his little body can take. 

Smaug kisses his nose and thumbs his cheek and soothes, “Shh, shhhh... pretty little _Bilbo_... I’ll give you _everything_ you could ever dream...”

His cock thrusts inside, and Bilbo _shrieks_ so loud he thinks his lungs will burst. The stretch brings a searing pain, but the tail shifts and it’s Smaug’s cock along that spot inside that shatters everything into blinding pleasure. He’s so overwhelmed that he’s sure he’ll pass out from the sensations in his ass alone, never mind how Smaug’s hands drift over every other part of his body, tracing all his lines and curves. Smaug kisses the edges of his open mouth, and Bilbo pants and pants, heady a foggy, useless mess. Smaug presses all the way inside, bit-by-bit, until the fur around his cock is brushing Bilbo’s skin, Smaug’s stomach pressed tightly against his own. Smaug makes a gorgeous, pleasured sound and a growl deep in his throat. Bilbo thinks he might die from the overload like a frightened rabbit. 

It gets worse, better. Smaug takes a moment before he slides his cock half out, but then he’s slamming inside again, his tail moving with it, and Bilbo chokes, chest fluttering rapidly to try and keep up. His mouth is stuck as wide as it can go, and he thinks he might have a trickle of saliva running down his chin, but he can’t do anything about it. His eyes are mere slits that are so dilated they can’t take in a thing, and his ears are ringing from the force of his own heartbeat. Smaug’s tail and cock slide out, slam in, again, then again, over and over again so that Bilbo bounces back and forth along the gold, coins slipping and sliding around him. Smaug’s hands slither up to palm his nipples, rubbing them in circles and then tugging on them, and Bilbo somehow manages to rasp, “...P...please... please...” He needs mercy. Release. He’s crying. 

Smaug bends to softly lick the tears away. His hips never stop, fucking Bilbo so hard, so incredibly hard, and his cock seems to twitch inside, thrumming along, everything about Smaug is alive and _hot_. Bilbo can barely breathe. Smaug’s tongue is slick and strangely textured along his skin, setting his fraying nerves on end. Smaug kisses his cheeks one by one, then comes back to his mouth. Bilbo can’t kiss like this. He’s going insane from being fucked so hard. How is Smaug so calm, so perfect? Bilbo’s dying. 

Bilbo comes. 

It’s barely been a few minutes, feels like it’s been an eternity, and even though nothing’s touching his cock but the smooth expanse of Smaug’s taut stomach, Bilbo bursts against it. The torrential flood of pleasure makes Bilbo scream so loudly that his throat gives out, and he splutters, hoarse, with nothing. Smaug doesn’t stop fucking him, not for a second. Smaug wraps long arms around his waist and hikes him up so easily, tail jerking his leg higher for a new angle, so _deep_. As Bilbo’s mind bubbles and reels and crashes down, he conjures images of himself clinging to a massive, crimson cock, drinking dragon cum from the head for hours upon hours. All of the daylight, isn’t that what Smaug said? Bilbo couldn’t last like this. His body’s going to be fucked apart. 

His cock’s barely finished when it starts to harden again. Bilbo doesn’t understand. Smaug makes a pleased noise in his ear and fucks him relentlessly on, pounding his bruised ass into the pile of riches again and again. Bilbo desperately wants his hands free—he needs to hold on. Smaug licks up the trail of saliva trickling down Bilbo’s chin, and Smaug’s fingers reach for Bilbo’s throat, sliding tight around it. 

Smaug squeezes. Bilbo can’t scream; he has no air to do it with, but he splutters, gasping and gulping; he doesn’t understand, Smaug was being so tender, so gentle, but now he squeezes the life out of Bilbo and Bilbo can’t even—

Smaug lets go and slams his mouth against Bilbo’s, and it’s just as bad. Bilbo’s nostrils flare in an attempt to keep up, his chest practically convulsing, and Smaug’s _still_ fucking him so hard. It feels like Smaug’s playing games with him, toying with him, and he wants to keep crying but doesn’t have enough water in him. He should’ve passed out by now. He doesn’t know how he’s still conscious. Or maybe Smaug’s just exploring him, learning his limits, and Bilbo’s traitorous cock is filling with blood and bouncing against his stomach as he’s fucked without mercy. Smaug won’t let his mouth or his ass go. Fills every part of him. Bilbo’s going to pass out. It feels _so good_ and he can’t breathe and—

Smaug’s tail jerks out of him so fast that Bilbo somehow manages to _scream_ , the sound all lost in Smaug’s mouth. As the last bit of the tail leaves, Smaug’s cock explodes, and Bilbo’s stretched insides are filled with masses and masses of hot dragon cum. Smaug finally lets go of his mouth and lets him scream and whine as he’s filled up again, so far past his limits. It comes and it comes, and then Smaug’s cock is pulling out, and Bilbo’s hole is left gaping and dripping seed everywhere. He twitches and tries to hold onto it, but he can’t. Smaug pulls back just enough for Bilbo to get a proper look at him, all of him. His cock is still spilling copious amounts of cum, now pouring down onto Bilbo’s thighs. Smaug holds it higher and the spray splashes over Bilbo’s cock; Bilbo instantly comes again. He doesn’t have anything left to come out, but he still feels the orgasm seeping into every pore of his skin. Smaug’s cock points higher and higher and drenches Bilbo in more and more, right across his chest, and then it hits Bilbo’s face, and he closes his eyes. He needs air too desperately to shut his mouth, and he splutters at the gobs of it that land on his tongue, and he turns his head aside. It dwindles out along his cheek, finally ebbing into finishing.

Bilbo cricks one eye open, and the thick, long, spent cock nudges fondly against his face. Smaug pets his hair. 

Smaug settles down beside him, while he pants and spasms and struggles to understand what’s happening. Smaug hisses, “Yesss,” and croons, “I think I’ll keep you for a very, very long time...” He leans in beside Bilbo’s face to purr, “My little hobbit, _my Bilbo_...”

Bilbo somehow manages to look to the side, trying to focus on Smaug’s face. His ass is so, so sore, and his arms are sore, and his wrists hurt. But he feels so _good_ too, and his brain can’t process the different sensations. No one’s ever made him feel like this. Smaug smiles like he knows.

Smaug rests his cheek on one hand, lounging in the gold like a king. His other hand closes, and one long finger scoops a sticky glob off Bilbo’s left nipple. Smaug lifts that finger to Bilbo’s mouth, and he smears his own cum across Bilbo’s lower lip. 

Bilbo, delirious and dazed, obediently licks it off. He couldn’t even explain why. He closes his eyes when he swallows, and he marvels at how _delicious_ it tastes, how much more he wants. In this strange moment, it’s hard to understand why he ever wanted other food, when this could clearly sustain him, be all he needed. 

He can’t understand why he came here, and he doesn’t know why he would ever want to serve a bunch of trifling dwarves when he has this glorious being to adore. He can’t remember why he would go back. He wouldn’t. The afterglow ruins him. He nods belatedly at Smaug’s words. He wants to snuggle into Smaug’s body, wants to sleep. 

Smaug whispers something in his ear, and whatever was holding Bilbo’s hands snaps apart. The punishment must be over, though it was the most pleasurable reprimand Bilbo’s ever gotten. He groans and he shifts, slowly pulling his arms out from under him. His fingers are numb, his arms marked with angry red lines from the binding. 

Bilbo rolls onto his side and curls uselessly into Smaug’s heat: a perfect cocoon of blinding _love_.

A shadow falls over him. Wings are unfurling from nowhere, wrapping gently around his body, tail pulling him in and arms and legs around him, a soft cheek against his own. He’s drawn in and held, cradled, like something very, very precious, and Smaug soothes him and tells him what a pretty addition he is to the collection of Smaug’s riches. Bilbo smiles, _so warm_.

Bilbo drifts into a happy sleep, never, ever wanting to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely related art [here.](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/75135187060/smaugbo-porn)


End file.
